


Congress of the Crow

by micehell



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Humor, M/M, heresy against Canadian beer ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-10
Updated: 2006-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney sighed.  Regardless of what Meatloaf said, two out of three sucked, especially when he'd already invested so much of the very rare, very dear, very Canadian beer to the cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Congress of the Crow

John was relaxed.

Check.

John was drunk.

Check.

John was on Rodney's balcony, staring off into the distance, brooding.

Rodney sighed. Regardless of what Meatloaf said, two out of three sucked, especially when he'd already invested so much of the very rare, very dear, very Canadian beer to the cause.

"The point of our drinking the good beer, instead of that crap you have, was so that you'd get drunk and we'd fuck. At this point, the only use you're putting your lips to is pouting, and that's just a waste of good alcohol."

John just waved his nearly empty bottle - his fourth one, that bastard - at Rodney, not even turning around to look at him.

Considering his options, of which there were depressingly few, Rodney queued up his iPod and sat down with his own beer, figuring that controlling the soundtrack to this farce was the only satisfaction he was apparently going to get tonight.

It had been a good idea, actually. Get John to his room, let him relax, laugh a little. Fuck a little. With the _Daedalus_ sitting in orbit, Caldwell for once not at the wheel, there was no reason for John to be the Eveready Bunny of military alertness. Rodney had planned to sacrifice some of his lovely Waterloo Dark in the lovely stubby bottles and get the lovely John drunk enough to forget their last mission for a while.

Of course, it turned out that John was too much of an American to appreciate the really good stuff, and Rodney had wound up giving him the Blue instead, but it didn't matter, because John wasn't forgetting, and, God, the brooding was almost enough to kill Rodney's erection. Though he had to admit that John looked pretty when he did it, but still.

All of those concerns were forgotten in a moment though, as the Ipod switched to a new song. If Rodney hadn't already had three of the Waterloo Darks, he might have been more careful about which playlist he'd queued up. As it was, he could only throw himself at the little electronic box of shame, hoping he'd get to it before John could say…

"You have _White Wedding_ on your iPod?"

Fuck, too slow. Damn the Canadian brewing industry for doing such a good job on their products. Rodney turned, only weaving slightly, his hands shaping out well-reasoned arguments in favor of the greatly underrated oeuvre of early 80's pop-rock. Unfortunately, his mouth said, "Yeah, well, he had a song about masturbating, and Billy Idol… he, well, he was kind of hot. And I was 13 at the time, damn it!"

"That explains why you listened to him then, but it doesn't explain why you listen to him now."

The words were kind of mocking, but he was smiling as he said it, and Rodney smiled back, relieved. There, finally, was the John that Rodney had meant to spend the evening with. And meant to fuck, said his still lingering erection.

"If I had known all it took to get you in a better mood was Billy Idol, I wouldn't have wasted my time on beer - and, oh my God, I just committed heresy."

John laughed, and Rodney rewarded him with another Blue, and they listened to Billy Idol, arguing about what the hell the song was about anyway.

Rodney was pretty sure that without the beer he would never have been able to talk John into joining in the Best Idol Sneer contest. He was also pretty sure that it was the next few beers that were responsible for both of them trying to walk like an Egyptian. He knew beyond a doubt that it was the last stubby from his now seriously depleted reserve that accounted for the very unsafe Safety Dance that led to both of them falling on the bed, what sounded suspiciously like a giggle coming from John, and both of them grinning like 13-year-olds at a really happening slumber party.

It was when John started singing - badly - along with _She Bops_ that Rodney decided that the foreplay part of the evening was over, and rolled over on top of John, giving him a beery, sloppy kiss.

Thankfully, John was well used to him, and more than a little beery himself, so there was no punching involved, and they just kept kissing, moving to chins and cheeks, eyelids and necks when they needed to breathe, but always coming back home.

Rodney was drunk with kissing, and as turned on as his admittedly hazy mind could ever remember being. But though he loved John's lips even more than Canadian beer, which, again, heresy, he was never all that patient at the best of times, and there were certain other things about John that he loved, too.

Of course, it _would_ be the night that John was wearing the 501s that Rodney had bought him back on Earth. Even though they hugged what the BDUs hid, something Rodney was usually in favor of, right now he wished they were much looser. He also wished John would stop trying to help him, since having another pair of fumbling fingers in the way wasn't speeding things up any… though, now that Rodney thought of it, considering how often the fingers wound up rubbing against the cock straining against the jeans, maybe it wasn't Rodney that John was trying to help. In the end he tore the jeans a little, the tough denim no match for a sex-desperate Rodney. He could always get another pair later. In a larger, easier to remove size, maybe.

In a sudden reversal of Rodney's luck, it turned out that John had gone commando, which Rodney thought he could kiss him for, and did, a peck right on the tip before he took the rest of the cock in, and both Rodney's head and cock seemed to sigh, finally.

It was good, so good, but John kept distracting him, making clutching motions with his hands, wanting to touch, but too drunk and too careful of Rodney's hair to do anything. Rodney had drummed the hair lesson in early on, and regardless of his career history, it appeared that John could take instruction, for which Rodney was thankful.

Figuring that John should be rewarded for minding his lesson even while really drunk, Rodney pulled away, ignoring the desperate, "Fuck," from the bed, and set the - Pegasus version - Guinness record for removing his own pants, letting them pool around his ankles when they caught at his shoes. He twisted back on the bed, knees spread wide over John's head while he leaned over to suck John's cock in again.

For a moment, nothing happened, or at least nothing that Rodney wasn't doing, and he began to wonder if he was going to have to provide explicit instructions, but then wet heat closed around him, and Rodney said it this time, pulling off of John's cock with a heartfelt, "Fuck!" Even numbed by the beer, that felt too good, and Rodney's hips stuttered, wanting to be in deeper, wanting to come already.

Rodney looked under him, down the length of their bodies, taking in the sight of his cock surrounded by those full lips, thinned now around their prize, and he really did think they were much prettier when they had something to do besides pout.

He realized that they both must look ridiculous - still mostly clothed, their shoes digging into Rodney's specially bought mattress, and their faces red with exertion and beer. But Rodney had never been that big on dignity, and it was certainly overrated when he could lean down and have John's cock sliding over his tongue, John's tongue sliding over his cock, and he pushed in further, sucked in harder, and came at the taste of semen, at the moan of pleasure that surrounded him.

Orgasm always made him sleepy, and more than a six of beers on top of that didn't help, but John seemed to take exception to Rodney's collapsing on top of him, so he rolled off, trying to get their clothing in some sort of order before he simply gave up and laid back down. The buttons off the 501s were pressed against his thigh, and he was pretty sure that he'd mind that come morning, but he couldn't be bothered to care at the moment, John's shirt warm and soft beneath his cheek, and John's fingers wound - carefully - through his hair.

He was also pretty sure that John wasn't thinking about their last mission anymore, or about his responsibilities. In fact, he was pretty sure that John wasn't thinking, period, since the fingers in his hair had stilled. All in all, Rodney would have to say that his own mission had been a success. Yes, it had cost him some good beer, not to mention opening his musical closet to expose the skeleton of Billy Idol there, but Rodney was all about the sacrifice... when he got something out of it, anyway.

 _Rock of Ages_ was playing when he finally drifted off to sleep.

/story


End file.
